


thank you for the music

by TheSubtextMachine



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mamma Mia AU boisssss, listen i keep my word and I gambled on andi mack and instead of poker chips I'm paying in fanfic, mixing of both movies, musical numbers, no decided endgame ship, pretty multishippy, tags will update, y'all thought you had seen the last of me in this fandom.....
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-07-07 13:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15909240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSubtextMachine/pseuds/TheSubtextMachine
Summary: Cyrus is on his way to Greece after graduating from his elite college,and all he wants is a taste of adventure and heaven before he has to fall into some 9-5 job. In fact, he gets adventure, heaven, and three different guys totally in love with him.Having the ABBA soundtrack doesn't hurt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For some context:  
> The night before the Season 2 finale came out, I made a bet with a friend that if TJ looked back at Cyrus, I would write a Mamma Mia AU. Considering that the cast/crew have confirmed it, I think i would be a coward not to follow up on my end of the deal. Hope you enjoy!

A bored hush rests over the graduating class as they tap their polished shoes on the floor, the noises of their whispering reverberating against the hallowed halls of their Ivy League college. Metcalf stands at the podium, hands fidgeting at the sides of it as he speaks about history and the bright future.

His long-winded speech comes to a close, and he leans in a bit to the microphone.

“And now, I would like to call the valedictorian to the stage for his speech.”

Silence. 

There’s the rustle of cloth-on-cloth as the students look around, trying to spot their beloved valedictorian among the audience, but no luck.

“Goodman?” Metcalf asks, joining the confused fray for a second, before the man himself appears, his slick, sequined shoes making confident noises against the tile. 

“I present to you, fashionably late, our valedictorian for the class of ‘68, Cyrus Goodman,” Metcalf says, gesturing towards Cyrus as he marched down the aisle with an apologetic smile and a proud gait. Metcalf stepped to the side, letting his favorite pupil take the mic. 

“Hey guys!” he says, causing his best friends, Andi and Buffy, to scream and wave while everyone else in the audience waves kindly. There was some movement behind him, of wires being moved around and speakers being plugged in. An administrator tries to slyly slip Cyrus a microphone, which is just sparkly enough to be obvious as hell.

“I’ve gotta say, these have been some eventful years… lots of pranks and insane outings, skinny dipping in the lake, and studying so hard our brains hurt, but no event was as wild as…”

The instrumental led in, and Cyrus took a deep breath. All of the school officials in the back tried to feign confusion, and the students started a small, pre-choreographed shimmy. Cyrus jumped out and walked to the edge of the stage.

“...When I kissed the teacher,” he started, his voice smooth and ready (he’d been doing warmups for the whole car ride there), and the music jumped in, propelled by the speakers nestled in the back.

Some parents who hadn’t gotten the memo looked around wildly, trying to figure out why the students had started to intensify the en-masse shimmying intensifying and being accompanied by Andi and Buffy, standing up and twirling each other down the aisle, singing their backup harmonies, repeating the occasional phrase. 

Cyrus shrugged off his weighty robe, revealing the summery pairing beneath of pale green khakis and a sequined shirt, flashy and perfect.

“I was in the seventh heaven, when I kissed the teacher,” he sang, adding in a twirl as the students all got to their feet, parading out of the benches like a chaotic marching band, with flailing arms and pinwheeling legs. He had to sing over their yelps and the continued confusion of the parents. 

The administration behind them continued to fake their own confusion until Metcalf himself jumped into the fray on the stage, doing the choreography with Andi and Buffy, trying to keep up with it all. Like this, he was the epitome of dogged determination

“ _And I couldn’t help it I just had to kiss the teacher_ , Cyrus sang, before throwing his cap in the air, passing the mic to Metcalf as he raced down the aisle, followed by Buffy, Andi, and then all of the other students, throwing their caps up and tripping over their own feet.

“ _What a mad day!_ ” Metcalf sang-said, and while the whole student body left through those archaic doors. His coworkers joined in behind him, doing improvised riffs and dancing around.

Outside, Cyrus and the students had their getaway down: they would hop on bikes, and ride to the nearby lake to celebrate their entry into adulthood with a summery pizazz.

As they zipped down the bumpy, winding pathways towards the “secret spot”, an area rife with nights out skinny dipping and drinking, they continued singing, riding on their euphoric haze of the stunt they just pulled. Smiling and laughing as they arrived to the pier, they abandoned their bikes. 

Some tore their shirts off and jumped, some just watched as their classmates splashed around like children.

Cyrus, Andi, and Buffy took their spots by a tree, watching the mayhem from afar in contemplative silence.

“What a way to start the rest of our lives,” Buffy said, breaking the sun-kissed silence with her smiling sentiment. Cyrus ducked his head into Andi’s shoulder, so insanely _happy_ that he almost couldn’t believe it.

“Just remember that no matter what happens, one thing will never change,” Andi said, fondly ruffling Cyrus’ hair.

“What?” Buffy asked, joining the growing cuddle pile by throwing her legs over Andi’s, getting closer to both of them.

“We will always be Cyrus and the Crystal,” she said, and they all sprang up to their spots, ready for their oft-rehearsed chant.

“You for me, me for you!” Buffy started, and they all began to do jazz hands that slowly rose from their hips to far above their heads.

“That’s what friends just do!” Cyrus added, a bit louder than before, as they clambered to a standing up position.

“Because we’re stuck like glue, and glue never lets you get blue!” Buffy almost-screamed, as they did something vaguely resembling a hackey sack move before assembling themselves into a circle, backs faced to backs. Andi almost tripped over the rocky surface, but was saved at last minute by Buffy.

“Following the falls, we’re Cyrus and the Crystals!” they screamed in perfect unison, bumping hips with each other and giggling a bit at their own silliness.

Eventually, they went back to their previous resting spot, still panting and laughing at all the memories coming from that one chant.

“So,” said Andi, breaking the calm, “other than Cyrus and the Crystals, what are your plans for the future?”

“I’m going to move to Ontario for that management job, it’s a killer position, I can’t pass it up.”

“Officially?” Andi asked, remembering more than a few late-night monologues about Buffy’s conflicting feelings about possibly leaving the US indefinitely.

“Yeah. How about you? What’s your verdict on that grad program?” Buffy asked.

“I said yes. I think teaching is going to be great for me,” she answered, before elbowing Cyrus in a silent prompt to get him to add his own future to the pot.

“Traveling,” he said simply, as if it were as simple as that.

“Where?” 

“There’s this little island in Greece, you can only get there with a ferry from France, and it’s paradise. Nothing but stars and trees and classic architecture. I don’t know what I’ll do after that, but I wanna start there,” he said, and Buffy took her turn to fondly ruffle his hair.

“When are you leaving?”

“Tonight, I’m getting on the plane to Paris, and then I’ll make my way to the port.”

“What?!” they asked in unison, horrified looks painted over their faces, previously so happy and calm.

“Yeah. I didn’t want to wait.”

“But what about us? What about parties and-”

“It’s Greece, guys. This might sound cheesy, but I just feel like I need to be there, like it’s fate.”

“You’re an odd one, Cyrus Goodman,” said Buffy, fondly and sadly. This ended the conversation, causing them to just hang on to each other, watching their youth fade away as one by one, kids got out of the lake and left. Finally they were alone, and Cyrus had to go.

The taxi cab ride to the airport was short, but it felt like forever, as he watched the town he’d known for the last four years flash in a mess of neon and chipped-paint signs.

He lugged his bags to the airport, eventually stepping on the airplane steps themselves, trying to quash the vague sensation that he was diving headfirst into his future.

Paris was on the horizon, and after that?

Who knows...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the obligatory cygus chapter for the sake of the plot, pls appreciate

Cyrus steps off the plane, and bustles himself through the Parisian airport, exuding as much swagger as possible to cover up the anxieties pinging around in his brain. He orders a croissant using broken French at an airport kiosk, and tries to balance eating with walking with carrying luggage. 

The second he steps outside, into the brisk summer air, reality starts to hit him, and he can feel the projected confidence fade with every step. He walks in front of the airport, trying to stay under the shade of the awning.

He can feel the soreness of the luggage pulling down on his shoulders, of the strain of sitting in a plane for hours on end, and it starts to make his steps drag on the cobblestone, and his eyelashes feel heavy. There’s sweat on his forehead, and he starts to wonder if this was a bad idea the whole time. 

His melancholy gets interrupted by a tap on his shoulder, and he whirls around to see a freckled face shrimp with a wide, nervous smile.

It calms him down, oddly enough.

“Hey, uh, sir?” he begins, and Cyrus would laugh if his back didn’t hurt so much.

“Cyrus,” he corrects.

“Do you need help, Cyrus?” the stranger asks, and Cyrus can see the gap in his teeth, which charms him enough to set a suitcase on the ground.

“Yeah?” he replies, and before he’s done, the stranger takes one of his suitcases. A thought flashes through Cyrus’ mind, that maybe this cute guy was going to run with his clothes, but this guy just stays still, stays smiling with a lopsided, confused look.

“I’m Gus!” he yelps, as if suddenly remembering that he’s still a stranger to Cyrus. 

“Hi, Gus,” Cyrus says, offering up his unoccupied hand for a handshake. 

Gus takes it eagerly, so energetic in it all that his glasses slide down his nose a little bit, and Cyrus, forever the closet flirt, fights the urge to push them back up. Instead, he just blinks prettily, and retrieves his hand a tad too slowly. 

He’s by no means well practiced in these flirting maneuvers, but he feels like a stranger in Paris, like he can try new things without any of it sticking. He worries for a second that he’s going to lose balance like he did the last time he tried to flirt with a stranger. It would be a shame to topple over in front of Gus the same way he did in front of Jimmy.

And thankfully, Cyrus doesn’t have to spend the rest of the semester sitting next to Gus in his Stats class, so he kind of feels invincible. The sun is in his eyes, and Gus seems to be bouncing on his heels, and Cyrus figures he can try to keep taking that leap.

“Where you headed, Gus?”

“Physically?” Gus asks, and Cyrus has a moment where his mind is just an exhausted, sun bleached jukebox of ‘what the _fuck_ does that mean’.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to lunch. But metaphysically? I just met my future,” he says, as if it makes any sense whatsoever.

“Are you… high?” Cyrus asks, trying to dance around the word and its implications. That would explain the energy, he thinks, and then he begins to reconsider handing this stranger his luggage.

“No! No… All sobriety here, I just- I don’t even get offered drugs or anything, I don’t go to those kinds of parties, it’s just… I was trying to be poetic. Don’t mind me.”

Gus shoves his free hand in one of his too-large pants pockets.

“So what does that, uh, poem, mean?” Cyrus asks, very clearly hanging around. He can feel the crowds moving and flowing around them like rivers, and at any moment, they might be swept away. They stay anchored, however, by the luggage tying them to the sidewalk.

“Let’s just say I’ve got a bit of a good premonition. Something about the future. These glasses can see more than light, y’know,” Gus says, tapping the frames. Cyrus quirks his head a little bit, and furrows his brow a bit as he makes a decision.

“Can I join you on that lunch?” Cyrus asks, and a smile splits across Gus’ face.

“I’d love that. Just follow me,” he says, reaching his hand out again. Cyrus grabs it, and then they start moving, like they’re coasting into the sun.

-

They settle down on some faux-ritzy restaurant, and take a two person table in a corner, right beneath some rosy lights. Gus stumbles over an order of “water? Or, uh, l’eau? That’s the, uh, francais version? Le version francais?”, and the lunch starts with a bumbling sort of earnestness.

“So, you’re from America, right? Or do you just have, like, a really slick accent?” Gus asks, his foot tapping a bit on the wood floors below them.

“Yeah, born and raised. How about you?” 

“New York City, baby!” he replies, a bit too loudly and with a hint of a Jersey accent. 

“Really?” Cyrus says, his eyebrow dipping for a second as his eyes scan over Gus’ lanky torso, getting the mental image of a pair of rats tearing him apart. He seems like the kind of guy who could be broken like a pencil.

“Yeah… my dad’s a banker, we had a pretty nice place. Not, like, penthouse level of nice, but-”

“I get it. Is the banking stuff why you’re here?” Cyrus asks, and Gus visibly recalibrates for a second, taking a pause, before launching into a different part of his backstory.

“Well, yeah! I mean, my dad is trying to get me in a manager spot in this area, y’know? One of his associates has a bank here, got me an interview. I actually did the interview this morning!” Gus says, and Cyrus tries to imagine him at a job interview, and that makes him smile ever-wider.

“Do you think you got it?” 

“Probably. Normally, I’m a total klutz, right? But when it comes to financials? The cash money? I’m like a lawyer, I can turn it _on_ , man.”

“Really?” Cyrus challenges, taking a sip from his water.

“Yeah, seriously! Ask me, like, a money question, I will blow your m-mind!”

“Fine. What is a dollar?”

“A form of currency, albeit a small amount relative to say, one million dollars. You see? Mad skillz,” Gus boasts, a bit to loud for the almost-cozy restaurant, and Cyrus starts giggling without being totally sure of the source, whether it’s Gus’ nervous boisterousness or something else entirely. Instead of questioning it, he just gives himself over to the freeing drug of laughter, made only more intoxicating when Gus joins in. Once the giggling itself peters out, Gus gets this contemplative look on his face that borders on something intense.

“How long are you staying in Paris?” Gus asks, and Cyrus wonders what numbers are being crunched in his brain.

“Today and tomorrow morning. I’ve got a boat to catch. To Greece, y’know?” Cyrus asks, a little bit freaked out by not knowing what’s going on his Gus’ mind. He’s gotten too used to that face being so clear and easy to read.

“What if you spent that time with me? A weekend long date, if you will,” Gus asks, and Cyrus would notice the nervous fidgeting if Gus’ eyes didn’t look so dead serious in this moment.

“I’m not sure, Gus. We just met, and I’m going to be out of here so fast-”

“I know when something feels right, Cy. This feels right. What do you say?” Gus asks, looking braver and more knightly every second.

“Feels right? You’ve only just met me!” Cyrus says, trying to balance his logic with the urge to just _dive_ into whatever chaos this is going to be.

Gus nods, and looks behind him as the band strikes up some rumbling tune and when Gus turns back to meet Cyrus’ eyes, absolutely gleaming with determination.

“ _My my.._ ” he begins to sing, slowly rising from his chair. Cyrus lets his head turn upwards to keep bewildered eye contact. He’s too shocked still to even ask what Gus was doing.

“ _At Waterloo Napoleon did surrender… oh yeah, and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way,_ ” Gus continues as Cyrus whips his head around, blushing a bit at the attention Gus was beginning to attract. The band was catching on, judging by the way they oriented themselves closer to their cozy little table.

“ _The history books on the shelf,_ ” sings Gus, making a dorky ‘book’ motion with his hands, miming like he was flipping the pages and reading them intently, “ _has always repeated itself…_ ”

Gus holds out his hand, inviting Cyrus to join in, and with a nervous smile, Cyrus takes it, letting himself rise up, hands joined above their lunches.

“ _Waterloo_ ,” they sing together, beginning a smooth, energetic sway, shifting forward and backwards. Gus takes a sliding step away from the table, almost tripping on the carpet, silently inviting Cyrus to follow him in.

“ _I was defeated you won the war,_ ” Gus sings pulling Cyrus closer, into some jaunty waltz that bumps up against the sides of other tables.

“ _Promise to love you forevermore,_ ” Gus sings, before releasing Cyrus’ grasp to run to the band, letting himself be perfectly framed by them as he continues with a “ _woah, woah, woah, woah Waterloo!_ ”.

The waiters around them begin their own choreography, perfectly in sync. The people in the restaurant are clapping along, and Cyrus feels positively high on the energy that rushes through the room. Gus jumps onto a chair, and it doesn’t even feel inappropriate or overly boisterous, it just feels like Gus doing his thing.

“ _Couldn’t escape if I wanted to,_ ” Cyrus sings, giving into the song with a spin and lifted arms. Some waiter pulls him into a dace, before he’s pulled into another, then another, then another, before he lands right in front of Gus and his toothy smile.

“ _Knowing my fate is to be with you,_ ” they sing together, as tables are pulled out of their way to allow for even more pandemonium on the restaurant floor. All together, they sing another _woah woah woah woah_ through their smiles.

It’s the perfect collage of chaos, from Gus play fighting with his baguette, an elderly couple doing to Macarena, to Cyrus, dancing and laughing as if he were free as a bird.

Amidst the rushing sea of jubilation, Cyrus finds Gus and holds onto his shoulders, before pulling him in and giving him a kiss on the lips, marred only by the smile that he can’t fight.

“I’m in!” he yells over the blaring instruments, and they kiss again, feeling invincible and utterly _real_ beneath the wall of noise.

-

The weekend itself moved much more slowly, smooth in a way that felt inexplicably safe. They spent a while taking long walks, no matter the weather (there was one memorable moment when it started raining, so they just decided to dance around in the rain, kicking up puddles and twirling themselves around street poles.

They had even gone to a concert, one of those indie lawn shows that gets some noise complaints. Cyrus learns that when the beat gets really sick, Gus headbangs so hard it becomes a full body movement, emanating energy like he was on fire.

At the end of the week, Cyrus has an odd evening, where after a candlelit picnic (which may have been done with a stolen picnic blanket, but those tourists didn’t need to know), Cyrus meets Gus’ parents at their summer house, and they spend an awkward five minutes talking about Cyrus’ plans for the future. It’s only made more awkward by the fact that Cyrus doesn’t really have any, other than figuring it out in Greece. He’s never this lackadaisical with his future, but it all seems so blurry and muddled after that graduation. He’s been told so long that he’s meant for greatness, but he doesn’t really have any idea what that greatness is.

It certainly doesn’t help that Cyrus is standing on the cusp of Greece, and he can’t imagine any possible future, good or bad. So he stumbles through that conversation, hoping against hope that the looks Gus’ parents are shooting each other are of anything other than disapproval. He taps his foot and stutters until Gus takes hold of the conversation, voice unusually confident as he says that he and Cyrus are going to hang out on the balcony.

Then, he stands there with Gus, arms holding on to the prickly wooden railing, looking into the mediocre view of Paris, with city lights shining like candles and the shine of silver on the black river water. 

“So, Greece?” Gus asks, sneaking a look to Cyrus by his side.

“Yeah. Feels right,” Cyrus says breathily to the chilly air.

“I know what that feels like” Gus responds, and Cyrus can only duck his head with a light blush on his cheeks.

“Stay with me?” Gus asks, like he knows the answer is no. 

“I have to see Greece, Gus. What else can I do?” he asks.

“If there’s anything I like about you, it’s your spirit. I need to stay in here for a bit, but I’ll see you. We’ll find our way back to each other,” Gus says, looking into the city and speaking like his words are the wind.

“That sounds about right,” Cyrus responds, simultaneously comforted and terrified by the absolute confidence in Gus’ voice.

Silence grows between them, as they stare off into the darkening city, awaiting what’s to come with an unsettled stomach and the feeling of something on its way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, thank you s much for reading! Leave a comment, or check me out on tumblr @thesubtextmachine, where I take requests!


	3. Chapter 3

Gus was the one who drove Cyrus to the docks, on the misty morning where the air was filled with stray laughs and the sound of metal on metal. The fanciful, naive part of Cyrus, the part that turned a bowl of tater tots into a Shakespearean play, imagined that it the sound of swords clanging together in battle, despite knowing full well that it was just the ambient noise of a city in construction.

Nonetheless, it was a good morning to sail into his future. The fog resting on the horizon looked like a curtain, one covering the elusive future that he had been asked so much about. 

The ride there, on a bulky, pastel moped, was mostly quiet. It was the kind of silence that tasted like lavender, acrid but undeniably sweet. Cyrus was forever confused and endlessly flattered by Gus’ affections, and the way he wore them on his sleeve like they were patches sewn on his older brother’s old denim jacket. 

They didn’t really need words anyway. They already had the special weather of a morning after rain and their held hands. The talking only started when the moped stopped, and Gus had walked with him to the entrance of the port. Down those faded planks of wood, Cyrus realized, his future awaited. 

It felt terrifying.

“Any chance I can get you to stay?” Gus asked, hopelessly and without looking at Cyrus’ face.

“I don’t think so,” Cyrus said, his own eyes trained on the fog that rested over the horizon.

“I figured. Thought it was at least worth a try,” said Gus, finally looking to Cyrus.

A horn sounded, breaking through the mist, and Cyrus took a step forward. His hand was still holding Gus’, so he inadvertently pulled Gus forward too. He couldn’t pay attention to it, he was too occupied with the aura of the morning, with the people stepping around him on the dock to get to Greece, just like him.

“You have my address, right? And your ticket?” Gus asked, maneuvering himself to be in front of Cyrus, both hand on his shoulders in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cyrus muttered, not really thinking if he had either of those things.

“I’m gonna go. My, uhh, moped is a-waiting, my kind sir.”

Cyrus pulled him in for one last kiss, one to say a soft “see you later” and then he began walking, and he didn’t look back, even when he heard the stuttering putter of Gus’ moped whirring to life. 

With that, Cyrus floated into the bustling crowd, full of people squawking and waving around their passports and tickets. He found a spot at the end of the line. He tried to shake out the nervousness, and carefully avoiding eye contact with the inevitable people who’d be staring at his antics. He needed to talk to someone. Desperately. 

He looked around, and behind him, on the other side of the dock, was a small boat coming to shore, and a young sailor wrangling around with the ropes and sails. Cyrus calmed his anxiously beating heart and made the decision to take a leap of faith.

“Hey, sailor boy!” he yelled, and the mystery man faced him properly, arms loaded with ship material.

“Yeah?” 

“How are you on this fine, foggy morning?” Cyrus yelled, taking in this guy’s face, with his confused eyes and wide, welcoming smile. 

“Fine and foggy, I’d say. And you?” he asked, looking so sunny and out of place in the dreary landscape.

“Tired. Absolutely exhausted. About to get on this boat.”

“Are you, now?” he asked, motioning towards the line, which had moved a couple paces ahead. There were only two people ahead in line, and the bells began ringing in earnest.

“Give me a second?” Cyrus asked, and the sailor laughed heartily, some kind of disbelief in his eyes.

“I’ll give you plenty of seconds.”

Cyrus turned back into the line, and hummed a bit while the next two checked in and got onto the boat. With some fanfare, he pulled out his passport and ticket, and presented it to the clerk, who looked at it, checked the book, and then handed it back.

“This ticket is invalid,” said the clerk, simply and without any doubt.

“What?” Cyrus asked, mind spinning with the thoughts of the future and _fate_ and _what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck_.

“This ticket is for yesterday.”

“ _What_?”

“There was a boat ride to the island yesterday. This ride is for Belfast.”

“Bu-but… it’s the 10th. That’s the day on the ticket!”

“I don’t know who told you that, man. It’s the 11th. We are all pretty agreed on that. Right?” he said, his voice reaching to a yell and looking around the dock, “it’s the eleve-”

“When’s the next ride to the island?” Cyrus asked, his voice getting a bit strained. He could chill at Gus’ house until the next ride, right?

“There isn’t one scheduled. And we have the schedule set for the next six months, so when we figure out the next schedule I can put in a good word for you, get you on that boat?” 

The whole world froze over for Cyrus, shocking him absolutely still until it began to crack like a thawing lake, and he could only nod with wide, saucer-like eyes.

“No, I’ll figure out something different. I’ll work it out. Thank you for, uhh, your time,” he said, stepping away with jagged, harsh paces, moving out of the line and onto the dock, feeling bare and naked and quite cold.

He took one step, then another, feeling unsteady on his feet.

“Hey!” yelled a voice from behind him, and Cyrus turned around on simple instinct, seeing that the sailor was looking right at him, with a sunny smile and a look of doting concern. Cyrus moved closer to him, closer to the edge of that dock, keeping his eyes locked with the sailor the whole time.

“What’s up?” Cyrus asked, trying to make sure this guy couldn’t see the panic crashing against the inside of his skull, instead hoping he looked cool and collected, like his future hadn’t been thrown for a total loop.

“I saw that, the ticket snafu. You were headed to that island in Greece, right? With the fountain of love, and all that?” he asked, and Cyrus scanned his mind for that story, until he remembered it being a footnote on some brochure. 

“Yes, why?”

“I’m heading there myself. My aunt lives there, and you could hitch a ride if you wanted,” he said, casually brushing a well-combed lock of hair behind his ear. Cyrus was so happy he felt like he might die on the spot.

“Are you joking?” Cyrus asked, trying to cover his bases. The man’s face dropped in some mix of shock and light offense, before letting his face open up.

“I’m not joking. You in?”

“Hell yes,” said Cyrus, hearing the horn of the original ship departing from the dock. He stepped on the true edge of the dock, letting the toes of his shoes hang off the end.

“Before I sail with you across the starry blue seas, can I ask one question?” asked the man, and Cyrus took a moment to be unbelievably charmed by the smile that shone across this face.

“Shoot.”

“What’s your name?” 

“Cyrus. Cyrus Goodman,” said Cyrus, laughing a bit on his words at the realization that he just planned a massive trip with a complete stranger, “What’s your name, Sailor Boy?”

“Jonah, but I can go by Sailor Boy if that’s more convenient,” he said, holding his hand out for Cyrus to take, ready to pull him onto the boat and into his destiny.

“I’ll consider it. Only if you can pick an equally accurate nickname… If we’re going on a trip together, I might as well know you well enough to give you a nickname,” said Cyrus, taking the hand, but still standing on the deck, as if awaiting the answer.

“Pretty Eyes McGee?” asked Jonah.

“I can live with it,” said a blushing Cyrus, letting himself get pulled into the boat.

-

The ship took off, and once Cyrus just used to the rocking sensation of the boat, the subtle back and forth of it all. The two of them made their way out of the deck, after Jonah fished two small, glass bottles of lemonade out of a cooler. The salty air of the high seas felt odd on his face, but all it took was some deep breaths to let it sink into his skin, making him feel fresher and more alive as his eyes scanned the indigo blue of the sea’s horizon.

Jonah decided to pull out some plastic lawn chairs from the pile of knickknacks that’s stowed away in one of the compartments of the ship. They’re so flimsy that the wind could blow them away, but on a lovely summer day like this, it’s the perfect match. With their lemonade and chairs, it makes for the perfect getting to know you day.

“So, what’s your story? I mean, I know that you’re cute and your name is Cyrus, but what’s the rest of the story?” Jonah asked, leaning back and slipping on sunglasses from his pocket. 

“What can I say? Valedictorian times two, on my way to Greece to find my destiny.”

“Your destiny?” Jonah asked, a chuckle in his voice, and Cyrus felt like he’d be hearing that a lot in his near future.

“Yeah, my destiny. It’s gotta be out there, somewhere. And who am I if I don’t even try to find it?” 

“You’re an odd duck, Cyrus Goodman,” said Jonah, taking another sip before continuing, “In a good way. In a cute way.”

“As long as you think it’s cute…” said Cyrus, stumbling over his flirting a bit more than he’d like. He’s still a work in progress, he figured. 

“So, do you, uhh, have a girlfriend at home?” Jonah asked, tucking into his lemonade in a way that made Cyrus laugh at the obviousness of it all.

“Subtle.”

“Sue me.”

“I’m good.”

Then, a beat of silence, of watching the waves roll over each other.

“So… what’s the answer?” asked Jonah, and a hint of vulnerability slipped into his voice, and Cyrus wondered that if the sunglasses were off, he’s see that vulnerability in Jonah’s eyes too.

“No, there is not a girl at home. Other than my two best friends, I guess. Otherwise, I’m a free agent,” he said, trying to push the thought of Gus out of his mind, push the idea that he had possibly given some of his heart to someone already on this trip.

“Well, good. Glad to be on this boat with you,” said Jonah, and at this point, he finally pulls of the sunglasses, slipping them back into his pocket. His eyes were more vulnerable, Cyrus realized with a hint of victory in his thoughts.

“Glad to be here with you, too. But for the record, I’m not going to kiss unless we go on at least one date,” said Cyrus, trying to put the confidence on like a mask. Fake it till you make it, Goodman.

“That sounds like a challenge,” said Jonah in response, and Cyrus laughed, carefree and easy in the salty summer breeze. 

-

It took approximately 3 hours, 4 and a half drinks that were a little bit alcoholic, and 7 of their darkest secrets spilled before Cyrus and Jonah had their first almost-kiss. The had moved the party to the non-bedroom/non-bathroom room of the boat (it wasn’t a living room, it wasn’t a storage space, and it certainly wasn’t the deck. It was just the third room, more or less), and were absolutely drunk on candor and sangria from Jonah’s older sister. 

There was something magical about spilling one’s life story to their travel buddy, and Cyrus and Jonah learned this in full force, especially when they started talking about their first kisses.

“...there I was, at the school dance, with lipstick on my _chin_ -”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Does it count if she just kissed your chin?” Cyrus interrupted, giggly and loose as he sipped on his drink.

“I’d say so!” burst Jonah, boisterous and lovely in the soft lights of the third room.

“No no no no no…” muttered Cyrus, before putting down his drink as he made a decision, “can I demonstrate?”

“What?” asked Jonah, his wide smile betraying an feigned innocence.

“ _This_ isn’t a kiss,” said Cyrus, before leaning in and giving Jonah a peck that landed squarely on his chin. The sound of laughter filled the room, and Cyrus kept going, “but _this_ is a kiss,” he said, and both of his hands were on Jonah’s face, and their kiss felt quite imminent until it was interrupted by a screech from outside the boat.

“What was _that_?” yelped Jonah, and they both sprang up, already scrambling out to see the source of the ruckus. 

There was a couple on a lifeboat, in drenched wedding attire, screaming their heads off, trying to get Jonah and Cyrus’ attention. 

“Help us!” one of them screamed up to the pair, as they were hanging at a railing, looking absolutely petrified. Cyrus felt his breaths quicken, his heartbeat racing ever faster under the starry night. Jonah got to business, even though he looked terrified within an inch of his life.

He raced to the storage room, and pulled a ladder out of it. He looked so wild eyed that Cyrus felt doubts multiply in his mind.

“Is that the only way you can get on the boat from down there? There aren’t, like, steps?” yelled Cyrus. Behind his voice was the voice of the couple, who he was trying to soothe, telling them over and over that help was on its way.

“Don’t ask questions, just lift!” yelped Jonah, and Cyrus had a moment of confusion before Jonah carefully held the ladder over the side of the boat. He motioned Cyrus over, and literally every “bad idea” alarm sounded in Cyrus’ head.

“This can’t be a good idea! The boat is going to tip over! Aren’t you an experienced sailor?” Cyrus shrieked. Despite this, he joined Jonah, and held up the ladder. The couple started swimming towards it. Thankfully, the tide wasn’t working against them that night.

“I haven’t had every experience! And I’m not necessarily in sailor mode right now!” 

“But you! Are! On! A! Boat! Does that not put you in sailor mode?!” Cyrus yelled as the bride started up the ladder, and Cyrus had to put some of his strength into keeping the ladder steady.

“Kind of in romance mode, dude! Sailor mode and romance mode don’t really work together!”

“Jonah, literally nothing would be hotter right now than you knowing exactly what to do!”

“Well thank god I’m already hot, because that’s not gonna happen!” said Jonah, and the bride reached the top of the ladder, and she hopped over the other side, safe and sound. The shift of weight made the boat rock ominously.

“I swear to god, Jonah, if this boat doesn’t stop rocking, we are not going to kiss at _all_ on this trip!”

“That’s an empty threat and you know it!” yelled Jonah as the groom started on the ladder, and their efforts redoubled to keep him from sinking into the sea.

“It’s not. Try me, Sailor Boy!” 

This made Jonah’s grip falter a little bit, so the ladder, and the man on it, went crooked for a second before being righted. When he got it back, however, he held it more steadfastly than ever before.

“Alright, I will try you!”

“Please, stop fighting! The ladder is sagging!” the man yelped, and they both responded with guilty blushes and by pulling the ladder up just enough so he could clamber over the edge. The boat rocked again, and Jonah pulled the ladder back, and soon it hit equilibrium. Cyrus looked around at the fairly small deck: at the couple, huddled together against a wall, and Jonah, looking absolutely wiped out as he stood in front of the door.

“It looks like we all have some explaining to do,” said Cyrus, “let’s get inside and talk this out.”

-

Jonah had wrangled all four of them inside, and had plied them all with some water and warm blankets to fight off the coming night chill. 

“So, who are you two?” he asked, and in response, the bride and groom huddled a bit closer, leaning on each other for support.

“I’m Demitrius,” said the groom, slowly and carefully. He was clearly the shy one in the pair, because his wife spoke up almost immediately.

“Adelphie,” she said, snaking her hand out of the blanket to shake Cyrus and Jonah’s hands. Her hands were cold from being out in the cool night, making Cyrus wince for a second.

“I’m Jonah, and this is Cyrus. What brings you two to, um, my boat?” Jonah asked, ever polite.

“We were on a boat of our own, to celebrate our marriage-”

“As you probably figured out,” interjected Demitrius, gesturing to their attire.

“And things went awry, so to speak,” said Adelphie, wincing a bit with what was obviously a bad memory. Cyrus merely raised an eyebrow, and Demitrius continued where Adelphie stalled.

“It started off fantastic! We were celebrating on my uncle’s boat, but my uncle is involved in some… um…”

“Unsavory business. Let us leave it at that,” said Adelphie, and Cyrus huddled a little closer to Jonah. Seeing the pair from across them so close made it feel weird that he and his friend(?) weren’t also using each other for warmth. He ignored Jonah’s smug smile, and gestured for them to continue.

“Due to something my uncle said about his business, some fight broke out, and it turned into a bit of a brawl. The knives came out, and we didn’t want to be on the wrong end, so we resorted to floating away on a lifeboat,” said Demetrius. 

“I wanted to stay and fight, but he wouldn’t let me,” said Adelphie, and she reached over to ruffle her husband’s hair, making all four of them smile. A warm silence brewed, until Demitrius interrupted it with his own line of questioning.

“So, what brings you two to this stretch of the sea? A lover’s excursion?” he asked, quirking one eyebrow with a devious smile. 

“Oh no, we’re just friends-” started Cyrus.

“I mean, we’re sort of strangers, in a way-” added Jonah, looking a little confused himself.

“And we’re just on our way to this little island-”

“I have family there, and he is going to, a… vacation?”

“Vacation is close enough,” said Cyrus, before turning his head back to Adelphie and Demitrius, who looked absolutely amused by the two of them and their stumbling romance.

“So… a lover’s excursion?” Adelphie asked, setting them off again.

“Nope, not a lover’s excursion! Just a- uhh-”

“Like, a good road trip between acquaintances,” said Cyrus.

“On the sea.”

“Yeah, on the sea.”

“And we met, like, this morning, but we really hit it off, and we were going the same way so we figured that we could consolidate it, I guess,” said Jonah, gesturing wildly to the room around them, as if that was somehow an explanation.

“That’s it! We just figured, hey, there’s chemistry, and we’re both going to this island, so why don’t we go together? And Jonah’s apparently an expert sailor, so it just seemed logical.”

As if the confirm that this was, indeed, the case, Cyrus and Jonah nodded at each other and then nodded at the couple across from them, who appeared to be in deep contemplation.

“I will be honest with the two of you. This sounds like a lover’s excursion,” said Demitrius, rubbing his beard like some great philosopher. He used that hand to hide his laughter when Cyrus and Jonah burst again into explanation.

-

By the next morning, the group of four had reached some sort of quiet harmony in the overcrowded boat, and Jonah had decided to drop them off on some nearby port. They were out by the afternoon, waving goodbye and giving tight, affectionate hugs.

Which left Cyrus and Jonah, who definitely were not going to kiss, according to Cyrus. No siree. 

The wrinkle in this plan first became apparent to Cyrus when they were back out on the small deck, basking in the warm sun and talking aimlessly. Somehow, Jonah had gotten to telling the story of his last breakup.

“...restaurant, and she throws this water on me, right? And the wait staff is watching us, and then she breaks up with me. All because I put ice in my water.”

“That’s why I don;t trust French people,” said Cyrus, with a sophisticated air to his voice, making Jonah chuckle a little bit.

“Lucky me that I’m Swedish-American, huh? Do I have the insider’s pass to your heart, Cy-Guy?” Jonah asked, pulling his sunglasses down his nose and tossing a wink at Cyrus.

“I’m afraid not. You lost those privileges last night,” said Cyrus as he turned his head away from Jonah, looking up into the bright blue sky with a dainty sort of arrogance.

“Did I, now? Because I know an empty threat when I see one. And not to brag, but I’m simply irresistible, and I happen to like you.” Cyrus scoffed at the notion.

“Sorry buddy, you forfeited those kissing rights.”

“Poor me,” said Jonah.

“Yeah, poor you. On your own boat, living a life of luxury and fun. I pity you, really,” said Cyrus. His mind flashed back to all of the cheap student meals he scrounged for, all of the secondhand shopping he had to do. 

“I pity me. Falling for someone who won’t kiss me just because of a stupid bet.”

“Love doesn’t _happen_ to you, Jonah,” said Cyrus.

“Ahh, why did it have to be me?” sighed Jonah, half joking and half serious. A light bulb seemed to turn on in his head, and he stood up, walking towards the stereo, shooting Cyrus a knowing, mischievous smirk. 

“What are you doing?”

Jonah answered by flicking the radio on, and a jaunty tune with trumpets began playing, and he began his serenade with pizzaz.

“ _When you were lonely, you needed a man… Someone to lean on, well I understand_ ,” he sang, adjusting his sunglasses and smiling at Cyrus, who had sat up in alarm, and was now watching the scene with wide eyes. Jonah just continued, singing “ _It's only natural, but why did it have to be me?_ ”

Jonah sauntered up to Cyrus’ seat, and offered a hand, pulling him up so they were both standing on the deck, a little too close to be considered platonic.

“ _Nights can be empty and nights can be cold, so you were looking for someone to hold...  
That's only natural, but why did it have to be me?_”

At this line, Cyrus seemed to get the hint, and he joined in the dance, rolling his eyes a bit as he joined into the two step. Jonah motioned to him, and he realized with a start that Jonah meant for this to be a duet.

“ _I was so lonesome, I was blue, I couldn't help it, it had to be you and I,” sang Cyrus, getting more confident with every word. He continued, stepping up the dance moves by adding in a twirl or a dip._

_He was beginning to catch on to his role, on to this realization that the ball was in _his_ court. Jonah didn’t make his feelings a secret, and Cyrus certainly wasn’t pining. They kept dancing and singing, listening to the blaring horns and moving around the narrow spaces of the boat. It was so energetic that Cyrus could feel himself getting swept away in it all: in Jonah’s sunny energy and the salty air that surrounded them._

_Finally, after the last line, Jonah dipped Cyrus, too gracefully for the fact that they were on a swaying boat, both wearing yesterday’s clothes and on a sugar high. It was absolutely euphoric, feeling the sun on Cyrus’ face as the last strains of music hit his ears._

_Feeling so absurdly happy and free, Cyrus broke his promise to himself and leaned up, capturing Jonah’s lips with a soft smile._

_Jonah kissed back, and then separated for a moment._

_“Told ya you couldn’t resist me,” he said, before Cyrus decided to promptly shut him up with another kiss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dhfhkdbdbkAdlwAd yeah please comment they bring me joy,,, lol my laptop keyboard is slowly dying press f for respects


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we meet tj

That afternoon, Cyrus stood with Jonah at his side, hanging over the railing of the deck, watching the approaching coastline with a wide smile on his face. 

“Destiny looks pretty sunny, huh?” Jonah asked, pointedly ignoring the fear brewing in his stomach at parting with Cyrus. He wondered, for a second, if he should just cancel his trip to Munich to stay on the island with Cyrus. It was certainly tempting, he thought, his gaze sliding over to the man next to him, who was forever looking forward.

“I’d say so. Bodes well for me, at least,” said Cyrus in response, totally blind to Jonah’s inner monologue.

“You and the future are certainly fantastic partners,” said Jonah. He had begun to quietly hope that he was in Cyrus’ future. He cursed himself for how sappy it sounded.

“Thanks for taking me,” said Cyrus, finally looking over to Jonah. They smiled at each other, suddenly shy at the realization that this just might be a now or never moment.

“What can I say? I would be a bad Sailor Boy if I didn’t help damsels in distress,” Jonah said, and Cyrus rolled his eyes before giving him a soft kiss, pulling away too soon.

“And you are a fantastic Sailor Boy.” He looked out at the ever nearer coast, and taking in another whiff of the salty air. “I’m going to get my luggage. Kiss me goodbye on the dock?”

Jonah thought, his mind suddenly whirring like an overactive machine. It was a now or never moment, and he had to figure out if he wanted to take the dive and choose “now”. Cyrus just looked at his face, which was visibly descending into panic, with growing worry.

“Jonah? Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah! I’m good, I just- it feels weird to be saying goodbye so soon. I’ve gotten to know you so well over this trip and I don’t really want it to end.”

“I know the feeling,” said Cyrus, his eyes widening a little bit.

“I know that you’ll say no, but what if you stayed on the boat? I’m going to start a journey to Munich, and I think you’d like it. It’s you kind of city, Cy,” said Jonah, and he could feel his heart beat louder and faster.

“I’m… going to go get my luggage,” said Cyrus, looking stricken.

 _Fuck_ , Jonah thought.

-

Cyrus and Jonah climbed out on the deck, and for a second, Jonah couldn’t even think about the impending doom of leaving his newfound crush. The island was absolutely beautiful, swimming with lush greenery and white stone houses on the skyline. At the end of the deck, there was the beginning of a long, cracked, sandstone pathway, leading out and up into the village.

“So this is goodbye?” Jonah asked, his eyes lingering on the meandering path of the walkway. It was quite aged, and exactly the sort of thing that Cyrus would fall in love with. Jonah sighed, because this is the first time he’s ever lost a love affair to a _village_. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Cyrus, running his thumb over the handle to his suitcase. “It’s quite beautiful, though.”

Jonah held back the cheesy “not as beautiful as you”, and chose instead to nod at the scenery. It didn’t feel like the ending either of them deserved, and Jonah thought, for a dangerous second, that one of these days he’d come back and sweep Cyrus off his feet all over again, make up for lost time. 

“If anyone can make it in a totally strange place, it’s you. You’ll charm them all,” said Jonah, and he drummed up all of his willpower to take a step away, back towards the boat.

“I hope so,” said Cyrus shakily, and when he took a step towards, Jonah’s heart jumped into his throat, his mind blooming with hope.

Cyrus leaned forward, and placed a single kiss on Jonah’s cheek, much too soft for the blazing sun that surrounded them, and the sharp sting of saltwater air around them

“Bon voyage,” said Cyrus, before taking one step back, then another.

“I’ll try my best. Hopefully our paths will cross again,” Jonah replied, and he moved further towards the boat. One step, then another, and then a climb, and he was back in the boat, feeling the slight claustrophobia of the space press in on him. It now looked so much more foreign to him, so much emptier, as if Cyrus’ energy filled the space more than furniture ever could. 

He took a deep breath, then another, and then decided that he was, without a doubt, going to return. He just needed to finish his business in Munich, and then he was going to get to the real business: chasing the man of his dreams.

-

It took approximately 3 minutes and 47 seconds for Cyrus to feel confident in his choice to visit this island. He was aware of a rustle behind him, probably Jonah’s ship leaving, but his whole mind and heart was too busy being submerged in the fine white sands of the beach, pebbled with small rocks and stones. 

Cyrus walked, a smile slowly blooming on his face at the hum of life around him. A woman’s dog barked at him, a gust of wind blew some leaves to the ground. A couple argued loudly as they walked past him, and any inhibition dissipated into the air. He climbed the steps into the thick of the town, and gaze stuck on every beauty and oddity, from the woman selling healing crystals to the glistening sparkle in the sand, as if there were diamonds sprinkled on the top of it. 

“Sir?” said a voice behind him as he reached the last step, and his head swiveled around to face the voice. 

(An errant thought ripped through his head, something that sounded suspiciously like _please, not another pretty guy who’ll help me and then fall in love with me_. Two didn’t make a pattern, he tried to remind himself.)

It was an older woman, who had laugh lines around her eyes and a concerned brow.

“Who’s boat did you just come from?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at the boat itself, which had become merely a speck of white on the horizon..

“Um, Jonah Beck’s boat. I believe it was named the, um, Chiquitita. Why?” 

“That boy, I swear… visits the island and doesn’t even say hello to his aunt… sailing hasn’t taught that boy any respect, any respect at all,” she muttered, and the whole exchange made Cyrus smile a bit, before being hit with a memory, fleeting and salt stained.

“Wait, _you’re_ his aunt? He told me about you!” said Cyrus excitedly, remembering that it was the Grecian aunt who had a motel and the means to help set him up.

“He speaks behind my back and he doesn’t say hi? What a charmer,” she said, and Cyrus backtracked quickly from his immediate excitement, realizing what this looked like.

“Oh, no! Not at all, he said good things! I’m a friend of his, and he dropped me off as a favor. He has a schedule, I think, and he had no time to stop here. I’m sure if he had an hour to spend, he’d spend it with you. And the things he said about you were all complimentary! Stuff about you being on this island, and how you could help me, and stuff like-”

“Ah, kid, you’re a cutie. I get it. That boy doesn’t have an ounce of ill will in his heart anyway. He may be dumb sometimes, but he’s way too sweet to talk behind backs,” said Aunt Beck, and Cyrus realized a second too late that he hadn’t even introduced himself.

“I’m Cyrus! Cyrus Goodman. Recent graduate, spending some time to find myself. On this island specifically. I feel a draw to it, if that makes any sense,” he said, carefully watching for her expression. She gave a dry chuckle, accompanied by a sweet smile.

“You wouldn’t be the first one, kiddo. This island is a little bit magical, and the siren’s song of it can be a bit hard to escape. I get the feeling you’ll fit right in,” she said, and she took a step. He followed quickly, floating down the center of Main Street with her by his side. His mind was riveted by her words, and his eyes trailed over every small detail. She continued the almost mystical speech.

“There may not be a lot of guys just like you, college graduates with bright futures and an inability to resist the island, but you’ll find plenty of people who are like you, deep inside.”

“Like soulmates?”

“If there’s such a thing as a soulmate, you’ll find it here.”

The words sent chills down Cyrus’ spine, and they lapsed into silence, moving toward the motel without needing to discuss destination.

-

That night, after Cyrus had dropped all of his stuff off in the room and had a bite to eat from the most local bakery he could find, he decided to start exploring in earnest, stepping down every stray pathway and ducking beneath fallen tree branches.

He was walking along a crystal clear creek, looking like something out of a storybook, when the first rumblings of a storm erupted around him. 

It started with a shift in the air, as if it was being weighed down a bit. He looked up in alarm, and noticed that the sun was not only beginning to set, but it was quickly becoming cloaked by angry clouds.

Being a reasonable person (most of the time), Cyrus immediately made to retrace his steps, turning around to the back he had come in on. At that moment, lightning struck, loud and cracking the air like a whip. The shock of it nearly knocked Cyrus off his feet, and the disorienting ripples of it left him totally unprepared for the onslaught of rain as it hit his face, pummeling down on his shoulders. He shielded his eyes, only vaguely aware of the yells of panic he was making.

He swiveled around, the fear taking over him and keeping him on his toes, and then he saw it- the light.

Golden and shimmering through a frosted window, calling to Cyrus through the rain and the thin tree branches. He made steps towards it, before a loud round of thunder made him still in fear.

He was frozen for a second, but he then pushed through, using every inch of will he could find. The shift was so sudden, it was almost supernatural. The way that the island could move from that impossible calmness to this sort of danger and chaos was totally new to him. The only think he could do was keep moving forward. 

As the window came more into view, so did the house attached to it. The cabin was small and worn, like something that had been kept in the family for years. Now, the window wasn’t the only thing that shone, as against the winds of the storm, the door opened, revealing even more light, interrupted only by a silhouette of a young man.

“Help!” shouted Cyrus, his voice raw as he fought against the pelting rain drops.

The figure, the silhouette, rushed forward, letting the door close quickly behind him. Soon the silhouette became a person under the sparse light. He was a young man, and Cyrus reached out to him, and the stranger grabbed his hand. Together, they _ran_ , nearly slipping and sliding over the mud, pulling each other up when they were about to fall.

Then peace. The door was wrestled open, and Cyrus practically flung himself inside, into the warmness and comfort of the small cabin.

“Sorry for dirtying up your carpet,” Cyrus said quietly, panting against the wall and looking at the marks of mud his boots left. Without thought, he took of the shoes, only half-aware of the fact that his socks were absolutely soaked.

“It’s alright,” said the stranger, and his position mirrored Cyrus’, only now his back was up against the door, as if trying to keep it closed. 

“I’m Cyrus,” he introduced.

“I’m T.J.,” said the stranger against the door, and Cyrus opened his eyes again (still dripping with the occasional raindrop) to properly take in the guy who had just saved him from having to walk a mile in the pouring, terrifying rain.

He was a young man, quite handsome despite the drowned-rat look of his hair, and his eyes seemed stuck on Cyrus’ face in a look that had begun to seem awfully familiar.

_Shit, not again._


	5. Chapter 5

The first major surprise of the Kippen Cabin (the young man’s name was TJ, apparently) was the sheer abundance of warm drink options. For what was essentially a summer house, TJ had an unusual amount of hot coffee and cocoa, but Cyrus certainly wasn’t complaining, especially when he had a mug of hot chocolate in his hands and a warm change of clothes.

Said clothes were TJ’s, so they were oversized, but nothing so inconvenient and ill-fitting that Cyrus had the energy to protest. 

He especially didn’t have the energy to protest when the third cute boy of the week delicately draped a quilt on his shoulders and took a seat opposite him, lighting candles to fight the effect of a possible power outage. Cyrus couldn’t tell if he was lucky or especially cursed, because this guy was even prettier with candlelight flickering across his face.

Cyrus tried to remind himself that this was the sort of thinking that got him into these sort of conundrums, but it was all for naught- he was already falling into the inevitable, familiar pit of light infatuation.

The conversation was light and sleepy, as both of them slowly made themselves more comfortable in their respective seats. 

“So if fate brought me to this island,” Cyrus said, taking a break to take a drink, “what brought _you_ here?”

“Boredom, mostly. Wanderlust, too. I can’t tell if it’s more or less legitimate than fate,” he said, and then there was a pause, as if TJ has something else to say but doesn’t know how to say it. At Cyrus’ questioning eyebrow, he shook his head, muttering “it’s nothing” under his breath.

The moment was quickly forgotten as an especially loud jolt of thunder roared across the sky, and the cabin itself felt like it was trembling out of fear from the onslaught of the storm.

“Do you believe in it?” Cyrus asked, trying to find extra comfort in the warmth of the drink through his mug, curling his hands ever closer to the ceramic. 

“In what?” TJ asked, looking quite confused and quite lovely.

“In fate,” said Cyrus, and TJ’s face turned into deep thought, broken only by a yawn. 

“I don’t think I do,” he said, his voice a bit affected by the yawn, making it deeper and more wistful. He snuggled himself a little bit further into the couch, pulling the blankets around him a bit tighter.

“Good to know,” Cyrus said, adding his own yawn to the symphony of the night, the music of light voices dancing over the steady percussion of rainfall. 

Cyrus’s blinking slowed, his eyelids getting heavier. Every time they opened, it became harder and harder to focus on anything in the cabin. 

“Mind if I sleep here?” he asked, hearing his own exhaustion in his voice. His hearing was a bit muddled, but he could comprehend TJ’s light chuckle and his affirmation that Cyrus could take a nap, and Cyrus wasted no time going to sleep.

-

That morning, they woke up at the call of the sun, which seemed to shine directly through the windows onto their faces, blasting a bright white alarm call into their eyes. Neither of them were morning people, which made for an admittedly difficult waking up period- full of sighs and awkward stretching.

“G’morning,” groaned/muttered/said TJ, absentmindedly wiping at his eyes. The sight of a sleep addled TJ brought an inexplicable smile to Cyrus’ face, one that he chose not to examine too much.

“Good morning to you too,” he said, still not able to wipe the smile off of his face. The clarity of post-rain weather seeped into the cabin, making the morning delightfully sleepy, without much cause for concern. 

“Was this your first night on the island?” TJ asked, his voice the tiniest bit too quick- as if he’s been thinking about that very question for too long and just now drummed up enough courage to ask it, despite its benign nature.

“Yup,” chirped Cyrus as he shook his head a little, trying to get is bearings. Now that the lights were in full bloom, he could perceive more details about the little cabin that he had crash landed in.

Something old was in the air of the apartment, but it was visibly well worn. The couch was dented with the effect of years of sitting, the sink still had some water lingering on the edges, and the space was well stocked with all of the essential signs of bachelorhood. Only under closer examination, did Cyrus begin to see the places that might have been emanating the aged feel of the house. There was an end table by the couch that looked a little bit too rickety to be used for anything, and the bookshelf on the far wall had a layer of dust that he could see from across the room.

“What’s the deal?” Cyrus asked, gesturing vaguely at the area he had so thoroughly analyzed.

“With the place? It’s my aunt’s, she only comes here, like, once a year. I’m staying here for vacation.”

“That sounds like a good deal. I’m rooming in the inn,” said Cyrus mid-stretch, his hands raised high above his head, as if he were trying to touch the dewy sky.

“Starting tonight, I suppose?” TJ asked. He was doing the opposite of Cyrus, as instead of working his way off of the cushy couch, he was curling the quilt further around himself. “I’m sure this was a good way to start your summer.”

“Lounging about in a bachelor pad with warm drinks and soft blankets? I’d say so,” said Cyrus, and with a groan he hauled himself off of the couch, missing it the second he left. He walked to the kitchen, missing the way that TJ’s smile faltered a bit at the word “bachelor” before quickly shoving down whatever thought that had caused the frown, putting his attention back on Cyrus puttering around in his kitchen.

“Making anything special?” he asked through a yawn.

“Not yet. Your pantry’s pretty bare. I suppose I can just go now, get breakfast at-”

“I’ll go with you,” interrupted TJ, so quickly that it shocked even him. Cyrus turned to him, eyes widened, and he could only respond with a sheepish grin at his own enthusiasm. 

-

The farmers market was its own kind of heavenly beautiful, with all the grasses and tiny flowers that crept through the cracks of cobblestone and the blue sky that hung above them like a canopy, making everything a bit more bright.

“So what’s on the menu tonight, Chef Cyrus?” TJ asked, swinging his empty bag over his shoulder with an inevitable smile. 

“I’m not sure. Shouldn’t the head of the house decide?” he asked, quietly struck with the domesticity of the scene. He shook it off as quickly as he could, hoping that TJ didn’t notice the way the thought made him trip a bit on the cobblestone road.

“Hey, this is all you, get used to it. What are you in the mood for?”

“I’m not sure… something summery?” Cyrus asked, not totally knowing what it meant.

“So, pineapple?” TJ asked, his hand framed thoughtfully around his chin like the Great Thinker.

“Pineapple what?”

“I don’t know. It just has pineapple in it, whatever we’re going to eat. That’s summer food,” TJ said, before casually slinging his arm over Cyrus’ shoulder, laughing like it was a joke. The laughter stopped, but his arm stayed around Cyrus.

Cyrus wasn’t going to complain about _that_.

“Alright, alright… we can brainstorm as we shop?” Cyrus suggested, looking around at the lush fruits and vegetables around them, like a cornucopia of culinary inspiration. He could stay on this island forever and never be done with every meal he wanted to try in this farmers market, he realized.

 _Guess I’ll just have to stay a little longer than forever_ , he thought.

“Sounds like a plan,” said TJ, breaking Cyrus out of his reverie.

-

The day continued on like that, easier than a river’s flow. Next thing Cyrus knew, he was back in TJ’s cabin, spearing his fork through his fruit salad as he held idle, sporadic conversation with TJ. After an especially heavenly bite of a strawberry, Cyrus looked up from his bowl to see TJ’s eyes locked curiously on his face. 

“What’re you looking at?”

Silence. Something was brewing behind TJ’s eyes, something that made Cyrus anxious and blushy at the same time. It was like TJ was trying to fit together the perfect sentence with a complex set of puzzle pieces, and his brain was working at double time to figure out. Cyrus couldn’t imagine what the sentence was.

“I want to kiss you,” TJ said, simple and intense, voice loaded with something that was purely ineffable.

Silence, again.

“What’s stopping you?” Cyrus asked, feeling a streak of boldness that was new to him.

TJ climbed across the couch to reach Cyrus, who was putting his bowl on the table and turning to TJ, making himself as ready for kissing as possible, and next thing Cyrus knew, this boy from the rain was kissing him, his arms slowly winding around his neck.

Cyrus didn’t know what it was like to be kissed like _that_.

His heart was skipping like a star shooting across the sky, like something unnamable and exciting and new in a way that would never stop surprising him. This guy was either a really good kisser, his soulmate, or both.

They separated, for air or for a respite from the vulnerability, they didn’t know which one. Cyrus dared to look into TJ’s eyes, seeing some starstruck, helpless look- somewhere in between absolutely ecstatic and horrifically terrified.

“Me too, buddy,” Cyrus said, under his breath.

“What?” TJ asked, quickly schooling his expression into something cooler, more aloof. Cyrus had the urge to reach out and ask him to let the walls down again. _You don’t need to do that_ , he wanted to say, _I know you_.

“Just the look on your face. It- it was very- it was… it captured how I felt. Very well,” said Cyrus.

“I don’t even know how I’m feeling,” said TJ. There was another flash of vulnerability on his face.

“What do you want to do?” Cyrus asked. He realized that his hands were resting on TJ’s shoulders, and he got ready to remove them, until TJ surged forward to kiss him, interrupting that train of thought so quickly it was a bit embarrassing.

Cyrus kissed back, letting himself fall into the too-easy rhythm of loving and being loved, even if only for a moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm glad that y'all read this! Comment below if you're excited/happy/enraged/anything at all, or you can find me on tumblr @thesubtextmachine, where I accept prompts and asks!


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